Passion Pit plays with childlike enthusiasm

There were more than a few moments during Passion Pit's show Thursday at the Riverside Theater when a jaundiced observer could wonder if the music was actually aimed at children.

Sure, the Massachusetts quintet began its performance around 10 p.m., but frontman Michael Angelakos exuded the manic energy of a kid who, just before bedtime, had gorged on all the candy he got trick-or-treating the previous night.

His voice seemed like that of a child: excitable, winded, thin, given to sudden cracks and swoops and, amid a sound mix that favored every instrument but his own, not particularly intelligible. (The lyrics that could be understood were sometimes quite mature and occasionally alluded to Angelakos' mental-health struggles.)

Of course, a name like Passion Pit implies emphasis on feeling over mere speech, and that emphasis in turn is a reminder of the distinction between "childlike" and "childish." The music tried mightily to stay on the right side of the difference.

So the jumpy variety of styles and steals was meant to evoke wonder rather than simulate the symptoms of sugar overload.

The opening number, "Take a Walk," was among the strongest, shoved along by choruses pumped full of carnival-barker synthesizer and clomping, marching-band beats. It was also a good model for Passion Pit's recurring grasps at uplifting anthems.

"To Kingdom Come" went for that uplift via crisp guitar and emo-pop refrains, although it ended up sounding like a trebly, faded replica of Dashboard Confessional, albeit without anything like the sheer vocal muscle of that other band.

"Eyes as Candles" sought it through chirpy keyboards and plastic rhythms that Daryl Hall and John Oates might have used (and probably would have used better) in 1984, plus a lot of "na, na, na" and "hey, hey, hey" chants for extra energy.

And "I'll Be Alright" twisted toward that uplift across bursts of rave-up noise that, if sonically squinted at, could have resembled the faster spins of Morris Day & the Time were it not for interjected and prerecorded samples of, to make a parody of a guess, Alvin of the Chipmunks imitating Prince.

Such odd juxtapositions were part of the fun, perhaps, along with a song like "Constant Conversations," which had to be something of a joke, because the wispy falsetto Angelakos deployed, and more helium-inflated snippets, turned smooth R&B seduction into a wink that Flight of the Conchords would have tossed onto the B-side pile.

Nothing, however, stopped the capacity crowd from greedily inhaling the helium, gobbling down the candy or, during the dance-club lullaby "Sleepyhead," grabbing for streamers shot from side-stage barrels.